Chapter Text
September 1910.
This was becoming a tradition, Edwin thought with a contented smile. Or at least, it was the second year in a row that he had sat down with a collection of nursery catalogues and something resembling a plan for the gardens of Sutton Cottage, and had set about filling out the order forms for the various bulbs, seeds and other plants he wanted. The first year he had inherited Sutton Cottage he hadn’t known this was something he had needed to do, and had been quite disappointed to find out, in late December, that he’d missed the order cut-off for much of what he would have liked and that the more popular and interesting items were already out of stock. Last year he had been prepared, and had had something resembling plan too, however with the gala and everything that had happened and his own convalescence afterwards, he had been later than he had wanted to be in putting his order in. But this year would be different. This year Edwin had a plan. He was familiar now with what grew where in the gardens at Sutton Cottage, and of the colours and shapes and sizes of things. He wanted more yellow and white, he had decided this summer, and a few splashes of red, perhaps? Or pink? Gosh, there were a lot of options. He was also a lot more familiar with what everything was too, though he knew he still had a lot to learn when it came to Latin names and common names and colloquial names and the assorted varieties and variants, and of course the French called everything something else too, just to confuse matters further. Edwin smiled to himself. It was all rather exciting, really. He’d never been anything close to a plantsman before inheriting Sutton Cottage, and now here he was, more than happy to be spending his Sunday afternoon trawling through catalogues and filling out order forms, not to mention being quite pleased that tomorrow he’d be collecting a new set of tweeds from the tailor.
A disturbance in the hallway caused Edwin to look up from the hyacinth collection he was currently mulling over. The clock on the mantle said it was just after three. He sighed.
“I don’t want tea, thank-you,” he called as the door opened anyway.
“I’m not bringing any,” Robin said, entering the room.
“Oh, hullo, darling,” Edwin said, putting his pencil down and flexing his hand. “I didn’t think you’d be back for hours.”
“Me neither,” Robin said. He’d been at his club since mid-morning as he often was of a Sunday, and he usually didn’t return until it was time to dress for dinner, if he returned for dinner at all. However, a look at his expression which mixed confusion with concern told Edwin why he was home early.
“What did you see?”
“We haven’t heard from Hawthorn all week, have we?” Robin said, answering Edwin’s question with a question that seemed quite unrelated. He closed the door behind himself.
“That’s not unusual,” Edwin said. “He’s not exactly famous for his friendly demeanour and regular correspondence. Why?”
“I… I’m sorry darling, this is quite awkward,” Robin said, adjusting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. “I have never had any want or feeling or need to see Lord Hawthorn mostly unclothed in his bed, and you know the visions come unprompted, and it was very quick, only a couple of seconds, if that, and - “
“You saw Jack in bed?” Edwin asked. He couldn’t help but screw up his face at the thought of Robin seeing Jack, well…
“It wasn’t like that,” Robin said quickly. “In fact, it was quite the opposite. He looked quite poorly. We don’t know if he’s ill, do we?”
“Like I said, we haven’t heard from him for over a week.”
“Well then, maybe he’s come down with the flu?” Robin suggested, sounding very doubtful of his own speculation.
“Oh,” said Edwin, realising what was most likely the matter. “No, it won’t be that.”
“What do you think, then?”
“It could be his leg.” Edwin had long since filled Robin in about Lord Hawthorn’s war injury, and the terrible damage it had left behind. “That would be my first thought, unless he has come down with something, though I do find that unlikely.”
“Hmm,” Robin said, pursing his lips. “Well he looked bloody dreadful in the vision. All clammy and pale, and, well, not in any state that he would be wanting me to see him, that’s for sure.”
Edwin gave a nod, and realised that he would not be getting any more work on his plant orders done this afternoon. “Would you like to go for a walk?” Edwin suggested, knowing that movement often helped Robin when he was worried about a vision he could do nothing about, and the afternoon looked decent enough to head out. “We’ll go up to Hyde Park, get some air.”
Robin smiled, his worry melting away. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you suggest heading outside.”
“We’d better get moving before I change my mind,” Edwin said primly, standing up, though he was unable to hide a grin at Robin’s loving smile.
“And just one more thing,” Robin said. “Sorry if it’s too much to ask, but Hawthorn’s bedroom…”
“In London? Solid, high quality wooden furniture, white bedding, fairly neutral wallpaper, from what I remember.”
Robin scrunched his nose.
“That’s what you saw?” Edwin asked as they headed down the hallway.
“Definitely his room in London and not Cheetham, then.”
“It could be nothing,” Edwin said, giving Robin’s hand a squeeze.
“It felt… quick,” Robin said.
“You said it was a quick vision.”
“No, I mean… as though it was happening soon,” Robin said, as they reached the door and collected their hats and coats.
Edwin pondered on that as he buttoned his coat. A walk would help. He never thought he would admit it out loud, except maybe to Robin who would give him a gentle ribbing for it, but walking did help him think things over when he was stuck on a particular tricky spell, or trying to make sense of some rather complex theory. Walking around Sutton was of course his preferred setting, but London had plenty of decent parks too, and he had noticed himself noticing the planting arrangements, and combinations of flowers and colours that the professionals used in such settings. Not that he wanted Sutton to resemble a London park as such, but it was interesting to see what the professionals did all the same.
“If you’re that worried, you can always send word in the morning, invite them to dinner this week or something, and - oh!” Edwin stopped as he opened the front door. On the other side stood Alan Ross, his hand poised to knock.
“Oh!” Alan said, equally shocked. “Oh, thank god you’re here, though,” he breathed.
“Whatever are you doing here?” Edwin asked.
“Good afternoon, Alan,” Robin smiled, always remembering his manners, even when, or especially when, Edwin quite forgot.
“Afternoon,” Alan said with a nod. “I wouldn’t’ve come if I wasn’t all out of options. I’m so glad you’re here and not at Sutton. I’m sorry to disturb, you’re obviously heading out…”
“Just for a walk,” Edwin said.
“Is this about Hawthorn?” Robin asked.
“How - oh, no,” Alan said. “What have you seen?”
“Hawthorn looking rather poorly. What’s the situation?”
“Well, let’s just say ‘rather poorly’ is a polite way to put it.”
“And are you all right?” Robin asked.
Alan gave a rather exhausted sigh. It was only then that Edwin noticed that Alan himself looked pale and stressed and exhausted and potentially close to either crying or punching something or possibly both.
“Is it his leg, or something catching?” Edwin asked.
“Leg,” said Alan.
“And is that the cab you brought?” Edwin said, nodding to cab waiting down on the street.
“I told the man to wait.”
“And you’ve come here because…?”
“I don’t know what to do. The pain’s been getting worse for weeks. All right, it’s been settling down each night, but for the last week or so Hawthorn’s hardly been able to drag himself upstairs to bed. Then on Thursday night… it didn’t better. Friday after breakfast he vomited about three times, and he hasn’t eaten since. He’s barely had anything to drink. He won’t take any medication, well, he can’t now since he grabbed the bottle and threw is agains the wall. So now the room reeks of medicine because he won’t let any of the servants in to clean it up, not to mention the shattered glass on the floor. He can’t sleep, he’s all clammy and shaky and… I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you called for a doctor?” Robin asked.
“Are we talking about the same Lord Hawthorn?” Alan asked, distain dripping from his voice.
“You may not have a choice,” Edwin said. “What do you want us to do?”
“Is there anything magical…?” Alan asked, now looking more like tears than a fight.
“Depends on the problem,” Edwin said. “We’ll have to postpone that walk, darling,” he said, patting Robin on the arm. If Jack was in that much of a state, then he’d do whatever he could to help, and wouldn’t let Jack stop him. “Best go see what the matter is with Hawthorn.”
Edwin was glad to be seated beside Robin in the cab, and glad that Alan had ordered a Hackney carriage, as it meant they could talk freely without the cabman overhearing them.
“Alan, you know that magical healing is not… it’s not simple,” Edwin said, thinking of the long, thick white scars down the inside of his arms. “And it’s not always very straightforward, either. Well, it can be, for small things like a paper cut, but for bigger wounds, say deep gashes down the length of one’s forearms made by a magical or magic imbued-instrument, well, that complicates things,” he said, and found himself reaching for Robin’s hand.
“But still, there were things that could be done. Oliver, and Lady Cheetham, when you…they…”
“Jack helped too,” Edwin added, as it was true, and Edwin would give credit where due. “There was even magic I could call upon to heal myself, or, well, to help the healing process, rather. Between the four of us, we could prevent infection, keep the swelling down, relieve the pain, and quicken the healing process.”
“There were those drinks they made you have…”
“To help with the blood loss,” Edwin said. “Mostly commonly used for women after childbirth, but they do help with blood loss generally.”
“But magic can heal wounds. I - I’ve seen it,” Alan said, rubbing at his hand.
Edwin gave Robin’s hand a squeeze. “Immediately after the fact, yes. You’ve got minutes, if that, and even then it depends on the extent of the injury. The longer you wait, the less that can be done. Don’t worry, something can always be done, but Jack’s injury is years old. I don’t know why it’s causing him such pain now, either something’s shifted, a nerve or something, or - ”
“Or it’s an infection, in which case if he’s lucky he’ll lose his leg. There’s nothing left to cut away. And if that doesn’t work, he’ll lose his life. Don’t worry, we’ve discussed it,” Alan said flatly.
“Mmm,” Edwin said, exchanging a brief glance with Robin. Part of Edwin wanted to keep talking, but magical healing, for all the research he’d done in the past year, was not his strong suit, and he had a very bad feeling that if it was an infection, then there’d be nothing to be done but call the surgeon. The carriage bumped over a pothole and Edwin allowed the motion to shift him even closer to Robin. He didn’t know now why he’d brought up his own injury. He tended not too, and he didn’t think he’d ever said so much about it to Alan, though everything he said Alan already knew.
The physical injuries, though easier to talk about, had not been the worst of it. Edwin wasn’t sure what was. Perhaps the memory of standing, half-undressed and freezing, as Walter dragged the knife down one arm, then the other, the pain initially feeling like ice, but immediately turning to pure burning as blood poured down his arms. Edwin remembered fighting back the urge to be sick, to faint, to scream, to sob. To stop himself from doing anything that would bring Walter satisfaction. Walter had made him scream and cry and beg enough, Edwin would not let him do that anymore, even if that was all Edwin could control.
There was the strange grief Edwin carried mixed up around Walter’s death. That had not been part of the plan, Edwin hadn’t wanted that, and for his death to have been so public… Edwin had never seen anyone killed before, at the experience was not one he wished to repeat. He felt guilty for surviving, even though Walter had very much meant to kill him, yet the guilt remained. The situation had just about torn his family apart, and given that his father and brother-in-law had both been there and seen it all made things even worse. They’d seen what Walt was really like, and that Edwin had been right all along. That didn’t make him feel any better though, and he had no idea how he was supposed to face his family now, as all parties seemed to be doing their upmost to avoid each other.
Then there were the memories of helplessness after his body had more or less given up once given the chance to relax but a little. Complete helplessness, lying in bed, his magic drained, his energy gone, unable to lift his head, hardly able to open his eyes. It had only lasted a day or so before the ministrations of those around him began to take hold, and Edwin had recovered his strength. But it had been frightening all the same, to feel so powerless is every single way, to want to do nothing but sleep, but for that sleep to be restless and interrupted by nightmares.
But worse than that had been watching Robin watch Edwin go through it all. Robin had not left his side for days, only when physically forced out of the room by Jack to go and bath and shave and change his clothes. Robin, who had sat on the floor and sobbed once everyone else had left the room, and Edwin had been too weak to tell him to sit on the bed, or to reach out to hold his hand. Edwin, who, truth be told, was used to being the weakest in the room, though not usually in such a sickly manner, had had to go through the whole ordeal, but Robin had had to watch, and this time it wasn’t a vision, but something so very real. Knowing that, having watched Robin watching him and looking completely distraught, had broken Edwin’s heart.
“Alan,” Edwin swallowed. “Once we get inside, if I think Jack needs a doctor…”
“I’ll have Oliver go for one right away.”
Edwin gave a grim nod, hoping it would not come to that. He wanted to pace, to move. Good god, Robin really was rubbing off on him. Next he’d want to go rowing. No, what he really wanted to do was to finish and send off his flower order forms. It did not look promising that that would be happening today.